


if the fates allow

by doreah



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Fluff without Plot, Happy Holidays Trash Pandas!, Post-Canon, Post-Gilead, had to do it to 'em
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21749992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doreah/pseuds/doreah
Summary: June manages to convince Serena to go ice skating. It goes about as well as can be expected.
Relationships: June Osborne | Offred/Serena Joy Waterford
Comments: 17
Kudos: 103





	if the fates allow

**Author's Note:**

> Now, I feel like this can be shoehorned into my existing post-Gilead universe in some way. I mean, not seamlessly cos in this one Serena isn't pregnant at Christmas but it could be a sideroad off from "God Made Me A Hungry Woman", sometime after the violent rally, and if Serena never gets knocked up. Just bear with me, okay? I blame this entirely on the wonderful _#trash panda collective_ on tumblr who are full of wonderful, terrible ideas for these two morons. And then I steal their great ideas and randomly spew them out over the screen. 
> 
> I should probably apologise about writing xmas fluff for this problematic af pairing, but find me not caring anymore. 
> 
> Look, I tried but I don't know how to write fluff and happy things and holiday stuff, and keep these miserable losers in character while doing it. So, I do apologise in advance for whatever this is. One day I'll learn how to write good fluff. Or not. I know this is patently impossible crackfic. Just go with it, okay?

December in Toronto.

Cold. Wet. Grey. Generally a cesspool of bone-chilling damp and roads of dirty, salty slush. She’d imagined igloos, hockey, and penguins as a child for Canadian winters, even though she knew Canada wasn’t that different from upstate New York. Still, piles of fluffy white snow, frosted window panes, the silent night. It was all a dream because Toronto is precisely the opposite of every winter wonderland fantasy.

So, of course, one night when June suggests ice skating downtown, there is very little that seems like a worse idea. Firstly, they’d have to get downtown, and that would require trudging through mountains of grey snowbanks and lethargic rivers of brown sludge to get the streetcar, and it’s probably cold, and not the fantasy cold where you can just don a pair of mittens and warm sweater. It’s always so moist, in a way that seeps into your clothes, right into your blood. 

Secondly, it’s downtown and that is too far from home for Serena. Too far from Nicole. Too far from her special little hiding place where she never has to face the rest of the world, never has to hear their taunts and jibes, never has to shoulder their angry stares and verbal abuse, never has to face up to the consequences of everything in her past. No, it’s not nice going downtown. Last time she was there in a public square, she ended up in hospital.

Thirdly, ice skating? Really? They’re not 18 anymore and that sort of juvenile pastime is better left to children. Serena hasn’t laced up a pair of skates in over a decade and she’s not sure if she could even stand on them anymore, let alone move with any sort of grace whatsoever. And she will not be caught in public doing any activity that she is not immediately good at. 

Surely, June can take Moira, or Erin, or Nicole and Hannah. Serena wants nothing to do with insipid secular Christmas traditions nor ice skating in public, downtown, in the cold.

She used to enjoy Christmas, once upon a time in another life. Back when it meant presents, carols, and church pageants, and far before it meant stress, shopping, and figuring out how to overturn it for Gilead’s ideology instead. Somewhere in all that and stripped of all the aspects that made it both godly and enjoyable, she lost the joy of the season.

Okay, so, maybe she actually _hates_ Christmas now. It wouldn’t be the first disappointing fact about her that June has learned.

The next time June brings it up, carefully away from earshot of any children that would absolutely want to join, Serena shakes her head and tells her no. There’s not really any other choice, is there? It would just be a miserable experience for her, and she’d clearly pass that onto June who is particularly oversensitive when it comes to Serena’s bad moods. They feed on each other’s misery, multiplying it—exponentially—until it implodes. For a moment, June just stares, grinds her teeth a little, and shrugs as if it’s not bothering her. The tense silence stretches out far too long.

“Why not?” It’s not that June is petulant exactly, although she’s certainly a professional pouter on a normal basis, but she’s oddly testy about the refusal, as if it has something to do with her personally.

“Why would I want to?” That’s a reasonable question. If June can give her just one legitimately good reason for the excursion, she’ll concede. It has to be something that outweighs the cold, the damp, the distance, the lack of skill, and the potential for public execution in the town square (again). That is a pretty big ask.

The question appears to catch June unsuspecting and unprepared. She just assumes everyone wants to do everything she likes, and it’s been a constant source of their almost daily squabbling. By now, she really should have learned. She clearly throws out the first weak reason she thinks of. “Exercise?” Yikes. A swing and a miss. Serena doesn’t know why she expected much better from her.

“Are you saying I’m fat?” Serena tries to withhold the tease from her tone, but her lips manage to quirk slightly anyway.

“No, God, Serena.” June huffs, trying to assess just how far she’s supposed to reach, how much effort she needs to put in. “Okay, how about a little fucking holiday spirit? You’re just a miserly Grinch these days.”

Insults are a curious way to attempt to win an argument, and it’s never worked in the past. As a result, Serena merely arches an eyebrow at the words, waiting for June to recognise her misstep. It doesn’t happen, of course. There is a type of impermeability June has towards recognising when she’s said something wrong or overstepped her bounds. Perhaps it’s ignorance, or perhaps it’s just carelessness. Either way, Serena has become an expert at slowly, patiently waiting for the realisation to slowly sink in. If it ever does. Idly, she wonders what kind of day it’s going to be this time.

“I thought you of all people would be excited for celebrating a religious holiday. Isn’t that your whole shtick? Enjoying how everyone else is forced to follow your Bible stories?” 

_Interesting_ , Serena thinks. First it was a bit of teasing, but now, June is once again managing to very effectively get under her skin, in an entirely unpleasant way, and it’s all very confusing because June is taking her refusal to go ice skating so completely personally. She wants to scratch and tear at the skin all over her arms, to shake off whatever sort of itch June has managed to bring back to life. She rolls her shoulders, trying to physically erase the feeling of June’s incessant burrowing and nibbling at all the wrong spots. Nothing ever works. She’s a parasite, latched on and never leaving. June has practically set up camp under Serena’s skin, in more ways than one. She’s an itch that can never be fully scratched, an irritation that never ceases no matter how Serena tears at herself. But like the best mosquito bites, there’s a type of relief to it; something that feels good deep down.

With the extended silence, June backtracks quickly, sensing that perhaps her enthusiasm stepped over a line or two. Or five. “Don’t you want to just enjoy something for once?”

“I do enjoy things, just fine.” Serena watches carefully as June’s lips set into a firm line, unhappy with her response. That makes two people. “But you still haven’t given me a good reason to go skating. You’ve merely given me weight loss, some cheap Hallmark sentimentality, and Christofascism.”

With an irritated shake of her head, June scoffs. “You’re impossible. Can’t we do something nice together?”

Serena regards her coolly for a long moment, letting no hint of her sly grin slip through. “We do lots of nice things together already.”

Without missing a beat, June takes the bait. “I don’t mean _that_.” If she rolls her eyes any harder, they’ll get stuck in the back of her skull. “And you know it.”

“Going all the way downtown to slide mindlessly around on rock-hard ice in a circle for hours on end until I can’t feel my limbs doesn’t seem nice to me.” Serena pauses again. “And I don’t think you believe that it’s nice either, not for a minute.”

In a small voice, June keeps trying. If nothing else, the woman is absolutely unflappable when she’s got an idea in her head. Normally, her penchant for bullheadedness would be somewhat admirable but when it involves talking her way out of a horrible mid-winter field trip, Serena would rather just, for once, have someone that doesn’t need to win every debate as if she’ll die without that notch on her scorecard. “There’s hot chocolate?”

Just for a second, something flashes across June’s face, something a little hurt, maybe even a bit desperate and Serena’s left wondering why the hell this could possibly mean so much to her. It’s a silly activity that no adult with any sense of self-love would participate in, unless for their easily-amused children. And June hasn’t mentioned anything about taking the kids anyway. It’s supposed to be a date of some kind, perhaps, but Serena has about 30 better ideas for dates that don’t involve the outdoors in freezing temperatures with the looming fear of grievous bodily harm.

“Okay,” she says slowly, waiting for June to expand on the idea and make it more enticing but nothing else comes. There’s an awkward silence. “That’s it? It’s nice and there’s hot chocolate? It’s nice and we have hot chocolate here.”

Finally, June breaks. It’s not a very good feeling, if Serena’s honest because as much as this little game may have been partly teasing and attempting to get a rise out of June, it’s become something far more serious in the span of a few minutes. Across from her, June runs a hand through her blonde hair, and shakes her head. 

“Nevermind.” The word actually sounds sad. Wistful, disappointed. Something lingers in the air between them and Serena shifts in discomfort. While she honestly doesn’t want to go ice skating, she also didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. “The fact you feel like you need some concrete argument to convince you to just spend some time out of the house with me is enough. Don’t worry, I get the hint.”

Guilt trips are always a fun way to spend a Tuesday night, and Serena has certainly taken her share of them since moving in. The thing is: they always work—and she’s still not sure if it’s because June has a particular talent at it, or she’s just softened to such a degree that even the hint of guilt is enough to get her crawling on her knees for forgiveness. As June rises from the sofa, and moves to leave the room, Serena can’t help herself. It’s that itch again.

“June, wait.” She attempts to shift her tone into something a little less dismissive, and far less annoyed. Despite her very real fear of some new vigilante reprisal against her, Serena can do it. She can take a fucking streetcar in the slush and wet and cold, and strap weapons onto her feet, and slide ungracefully around a small pond of frozen water for three hours if that is what June needs for some nonsensical feeling of holiday spirit. She still loathes the entire concept, and there’s nothing she wants less than to be faced with Christmas decor and music and all the happy, stupid faces of Canadians who think everything is just peachy still because they can celebrate a holiday like this.

But then, at the last second, she notices June’s tiny hopeful smirk and there’s not much else that can get her to change her mind than a smug face. And Serena’s pride is still her most prized possession. “Can you pass me the TV remote?”

That’s all it takes to crack June right down the middle. Whatever arrogant little grin had been growing on her face is gone now, replaced with a miserable shadow as the remote gets tossed carelessly in Serena’s direction as June leaves the room. 

Okay, that may have been a miscalculation. It wasn’t meant to go like that. But it still takes a further ten minutes for Serena to shift uncomfortably on the sofa and finally decide that she should at least find out where June is. Maybe an apology is in order, although it’s not really her fault that June took all the teasing the wrong way— _again_.

———

The shower is running in the bathroom and June is missing from every other room of the house so it only follows that she’s the one using up all the hot water. All Serena can do it wait, and wait, and wait. It’s almost like June is doing this on purpose, as if she knows somebody is waiting for her to come back to the bedroom, and that somebody is vibrating with anxiety already. That’s just the sort of game they insist on playing together, even now, even when there’s no such need for any games whatsoever and ultimately somebody is always getting hurt.

Serena has to wonder if June has purposely chosen such a small towel to wander around in, knowing precisely what the effect on all that shower-pinkened skin will have, and how absolutely fucking distracting it is. What sort of sinful, animalistic reaction is this? The minute she sees June sauntering around, barely covered, half her brain seems to cease its function and whatever games she’d planned to run through. Something clenches, something else shudders. Her whole body is beginning to tremble with what in another point in time would have been mistaken for rage, but now she knows it’s actually something else.

 _Want_.

Suddenly whatever ideas she’d had about skating and sparring with June evaporate, even as the other woman refuses to acknowledge Serena’s presence. 

“June,” she attempts but manages to stumble over even that one syllable, croaking out a sound that is vaguely like a name.

Almost as if there’s only a fly buzzing in the room, June aimlessly meanders over to the dresser. “Mmm?” She sounds barely interested. Dismissive and angry, maybe. It’s not exactly the best way to end the night. Does she even know how she’s making Serena squirm against the duvet, crossing and uncrossing her legs in some attempt to appease the building ache? Her restlessness must finally register because June slowly turns around, cocks a hip against her dresser, and studies Serena’s discomfort with narrowed eyes and a tight, knowing smile. She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, watching as just that movement makes Serena tilt her head to the side and sigh.

With a haughty, victorious smirk, she looks Serena over carefully and finally speaks, “Do you want to go skating with me?”

Goddamn her. Is this blackmail? Extortion? Or some sort of prostitution? Serena can’t quite decide if June is literally trading sex for a date, or if this is revenge. Knowing June, she strongly suspects it’s the latter. It really doesn’t matter though, not when June’s standing there, nonchalantly fingering the edge of her much too small towel, teasing just enough. Serena swallows heavily at the gesture.

“That would be nice,” Serena finally squeaks out, very reluctantly, and taking a hit to her swollen pride.

“Nice?” June smirks, swaying a bit as she moves closer to the bed and shrugs, with another smug look across her lips. “Yeah, I guess it’s _nice_.”

Oh, it’d better be.

———

Maybe she’s forgotten. Maybe she’s given up. No, June doesn’t give up. _Ever_. A dog with a bone has nothing on her. 

It must be that she’s just forgotten and it’s exactly what Serena has prayed for every night this week. No longer does she ask God for mercy and forgiveness, or to save the children, or anything except to send some miracle to allow her to avoid going skating with June at Nathan Phillips Square today. God, if he’s even listening, most likely has taken pity on her sorrowful pleas because he is a god of love, after all, and there is nothing lovely about ice skating in December. It’s the absence of love. It’s obscenity, magnified.

It’s Saturday morning and as of yet, there’s been no mention of the day’s events. Well, not that particular event at any rate. Lots about the kids, and lunch, and homework, and dinner. Angels are singing a chorus of hallelujahs at this exact moment, and Serena is about to fall to her knees to thank Him. If things stay on this course, and June keeps on tossing those coquettish glances her way, she may have to fall to her knees for another reason too, and that would be far more preferable to ice skating. Even June would think so.

Of course, it was all too good to be true. All that has happened is that Serena had been lulled into a false sense of security, like some head of cattle slowly being led to the slaughterhouse, inch by inch until it’s there and there's no escape. Just a quick shotgun to the forehead. It’s all over.

After the kids have lunch, Luke glides into the kitchen to a cacophony of squeals from Hannah, who is apparently better informed than Serena is. June dumps Nicole into his waiting arms, as Moira watches everyone with a knowing interest. Does everyone know what's going on other than her? That's when reality sinks in.

June hasn't forgotten and she certainly hasn't given up. 

Her lips turn upwards in a very similar way to the Grinch that she claims Serena is. Her eyes are twinkling, and something catches in Serena’s chest at the sight. June still stops her breath sometimes, even when she's being completely and utterly evil. 

Moira moves to grab Nicole’s diaper bag and it's like everyone except Serena has the detailed flight plan. Meanwhile, June does nothing except grin as if it's the best game she's played in years, and maybe it is. Serena doesn't even get a chance to find her voice and ask what's going on before the kids and Luke are already on their way out the door. 

"Better grab your mittens," June trills, entirely too self-satisfied with herself and her successfully sneaky plans. 

_Goddammit._

"Maybe a warmer pair of pants too. You're probably gonna spend a lot of time on your ass."

Honestly, she can't believe June has the gall to chuckle at the idea. She wants to _kill_ her. Serena has no intention of getting down on her knees any longer, for neither God nor woman. June's just lost that privilege and it’s certain God doesn't exist.

 _You'll be on your ass, if you're not careful_ , Serena mutters under her breath but clearly loud enough for June to hear, who snorts, and rolls her eyes, well aware that the only reason she'd be on her ass is naked on the bed, but that isn't going to become a reality anytime soon.

Surely, there is some way out of this. Illness. Stomach ache. Panic attack. Sudden onset narcolepsy. Emergency prayer circle. There has got to be something she can come up with that will evoke the necessary amount of sympathy from June to let the entire idea drop. The thing is, this charade has gotten to the point where Serena’s not even sure why she’s so goddamn resistant anymore. Ice skating is not the worst punishment ever, and spending time with June alone is hardly something she abhors. But being pushed, being prodded, being provoked into it constantly just makes her dig in even deeper. She will not bend to June so damn easily all the time. It’s just not them. The entire house of cards they’ve built this new fantasy life on will flutter apart if the dynamic changes too much, and especially that way.

Before she even realises it, she’s on the front porch, bundled up as if they’re going on an arctic expedition and not just to City Hall for over-priced and watered-down hot chocolate and sliding on ice with two hundred other people at once. June hasn’t said a fucking word in a good five minutes, even as they clunk down the front steps in heavy snowboots.

It is damp, and cold, and the world seems to have run out of colour. Everything is grey, with shades of brown. God's gone colour-blind. Too much like Gilead really. 

By the time they get to the streetcar stop, June still hasn’t said anything, and this is turning into a terrible date if Serena’s totally honest. Wasn’t part of the reason for this sacrifice to spend quality time together? She's still unsure about why this is so damn important to June to drag her into this swamp of holiday spirit. Perhaps it's for the kids, but maybe it's for June herself, to regain something she felt that she's lost since Gilead. Both of those are good reasons, if only June would admit to them. Instead they have this, a slow trek through a frosty, wretched city to participate in some inane winter fun.

..

Serena wonders idly how many people have died from tripping on a streetcar track and cracking their skulls open. Marnie mentioned a friend from another job once was drunkenly running across Spadina, tripped on a track, and smashed her mouth to pieces. She needed reconstructive dental surgery. If that can happen, certainly someone could die from it as well at just the right angle. Or perhaps nobody has yet and Serena will be the first. Part of her hopes so.

Whether it’s another game or some form of punishment, she can’t be sure but even as they sit side by side on the uncomfortable red seats of the 501 streetcar, June is silent. She doesn’t look perturbed at all when Serena finally manages to steal a curious glance. She seems simply content. Absurdly so.

The announcement dings for the stop, signalling the mass exodus of similarly-minded public transit users. Apparently everybody wants to go to City Hall today.

Finally, when they’re standing beside the rink, watching the hordes of children and teenagers swilling around on the ice, June turns to her, and looks up. For a moment, she says and does nothing more. Just stares, as a slow smile creeps over her lips. Then, with fuzzy gloved hands, she reaches up, eyes gleaming, and pulls Serena’s scarf up, adjusting it so it’s more effective around her face. 

“I like you like this,” she murmurs, playing with the scarf some more. Serena can feel her face heating up as colour rises to her cheeks with June fussing over her, right there, in public. She’s too terrified to move and break this spell, or move and draw attention to herself. Last time she was here, she did that and it ended very poorly. 

June pulls the scarf over Serena’s mouth too. She chuckles to herself more than anyone. “You’re so nice when you’re quiet.”

Again, that's likely a sentiment this entire country shares. It stings a little more coming from June though. 

Serena immediately swats June’s hands aside, huffing to herself, pulling her scarf away from her face, and putting distance between them. "Why did you force me to come here?" It's a genuine question because from all angles, this looks just like a power play. June seems in no hurry to actually talk, or even do much more than press each and every one of Serena's buttons methodically, until she hits on the one that results in a very public and humiliating explosion. 

"Oh, would you just enjoy yourself for once," June chides, shrugging off Serena’s bitchy attitude like water. It is meaningless to her. 

"You are making that very difficult." Grumbling, Serena shoves her hands into her coat pockets, already dreading her weakness yet following along after June as she weaves towards the rink. What's wrong with a nice, not too expensive dinner instead of this? Why must June flex her power in ways that seem so counter-intuitive to even her own enjoyment? Everything was just fine at home in the warmth and quiet.

Ignoring the lingering sour mood Serena seems to drag with her everywhere now, June walks towards the skate rental kiosk, passing through throngs of wandering tourists like it’s an everyday occurrence to be out with a war criminal that the entire country despises. If only that nonchalance was contagious. As they round the corner, June abruptly stops and shakes her head as if she’s just thought of something ridiculous. She spins around, peering up and narrowing her eyes. A feeling of cold dread settles into Serena’s bones, flooding her veins with panic because June rarely looks at her in quite this puzzling way unless she’s up to something, which seems to be the plan for this entire day. Bad surprise after worse one.

“Serena, can you do me a favour?” she asks, clearly struggling to keep her voice even. “Can you just relax a little?”

To relax requires trust, something that Serena is often in short supply off. Not necessarily because of June herself, although today’s events certainly aren’t helping, but being so recognisable and out in public has not made it any easier. In fairness, she’s never been good at relaxing, except for those limited minutes in bed, wrapped under blankets with June’s naked body panting next to her as they both come down. It’s the only reprieve she’s ever found from the crushing uncertainty and anxiety that plagues her daily life. Not even the Lord has come close.

There’s not much she can do, or say, or argue with at this point. It’s best just to warily accept her fate. So she nods and prays. Sure, she’ll relax a little—if possible. 

“I promise, when we get home tonight, we can relax even better.” A wink. Again June uses sex as a weapon, or a bribe. Whatever it is, it’s starting to make Serena uncomfortable, as if she’s some man that needs sexual placation instead of maybe just listening and not insisting they involve themselves in activities that make the other uncomfortable in the first place. It’s no lie that Serena enjoys sex with her—a lot—but that’s secondary really, to what should be something deeper. Something more substantial than a bargaining tool.

“Fine, June,” she says, trying not to sound as put off as she is. The sooner they begin, the sooner this can be over. She attempts to turn back towards the rental window, but a hand on her arm halts her movement. “What now?”

Without saying anything, without any sort of explanation at all, June reaches for the neck of Serena’s winter jacket, pulling her down. For a second, Serena thinks she’s going to adjust her damn scarf again, but instead, she doesn’t let her grip loosen until she’s wrangled Serena much closer to her level. Without hesitation, there are soft lips suddenly against her own. She could swear June actually sighs, contented, as she slowly, gently kisses her. Serena pulse begins to race, only partly from the anxiety of this being a very public place and them doing something that in the rest of her life, would have at best got her shunned, and at worse, killed. But June’s mouth is so persistent, and her hands are gripping tightly.

It feels so damn good to be kissed like this, regardless of the consequences, regardless of the attention they’re no doubt drawing. And she can’t fucking stop. Her own body moves lazily against June, returning her attention and losing herself until she feels the burgeoning pressure of suffocation, so she sucks in a sharp breath, trying not to break the spell. She’s being kissed senseless right in Nathan Phillips Square, in the frigid December weather, with Christmas carols about angels playing on a tinny loudspeaker around them. Even in the time before Gilead, nobody would ever have done this with her, not Fred; nobody would have dared.

Serena had been so fearful of being visible, being seen here, that she hadn’t realised what relief it would be to have June with her. Maybe somebody will recognise her again, but this time she has June, and June’s stubborn approval. Would they come after someone with June by their side? Surely if she can feel affection, Serena’s not all bad? Maybe that’s what they could see. The kiss feels like a shield around them, something meant to protect her from everything outside their world together. It’s safe, finally. It’s an impervious wall that June provides, emboldened and certain. She suddenly wants June to kiss her everywhere: on the streetcar, at the supermarket, in every governmental office, in the coffee shop, at the kids’ school. Everywhere she feels other people’s eyes on her, judging and shaming and silently wishing harm, which is everywhere except home. She never wants June to stop, as selfish as that may be.

In a daze, June pulls back, her eyes a little glassy but a satisfied smirk on her smug little face. “See? It’s not all bad, this Christmas thing.” She looks up to draw Serena’s attention to the cheap plastic mistletoe hanging above them in silent mockery, as if Serena had fallen for a terrible joke. It takes every ounce of strength not to roll her eyes at the stupid tradition she’s just succumbed to.

But, really, what’s not to love about being kissed so breathless, with no shame and no fear, just as is? Serena never once thought she’d have it, not with June. And not anymore. Yes, there is one couple staring at her with that uneasy look on their faces she’s seen a million times now, and a cellphone in their hands. They know exactly who she is, but they also glance to June, whispering amongst themselves as if coming to some decision from watching Serena Joy Waterford, the Gilead architect-turned-scapegoat languidly kiss another woman, boldly and unashamedly in the middle of a crowd. If it wasn’t for that open expression of affection, maybe they would have confronted her but obviously now is not the time nor place. They can save their hatred for another time. But Serena still doesn’t understand June’s motivation, if she even knows what a life preserver she’s thrown or if it was merely another game to catch her off guard and ill-prepared. She enjoys keeping Serena tottering around off balance.

Oblivious to everyone around them, June takes her hand, grinning to herself as they walk towards the rentals.

———

Ice skating is perhaps not the worst idea in the world, Serena thinks as she watches June lace up her figure skates and step onto the cracked, snowy ice. Momentarily, she wobbles and it’s actually quite adorable, with her arms flailing as she adjusts to the unfamiliar feeling. This whole time, Serena had assumed she’d be confronted with a graceful and balletic June, skating figure-8's around her immediately. But instead, she’s witnessing an awkward baby goat trying to stand for the first time. This is actually worth the trip alone. She bites her bottom lip as she gazes at June, something warm spreading through her chest at the sight.

Radiant and cheerful, June grins as she finally finds her balance and something about that ecstatic expression alone sends Serena’s whole body into a feverish spin. June's smile is for nobody else, just Serena in this one singular moment. “Come on, Serena.” She’s still beaming, but she’s impatient. 

Decades since the last time, Serena knows already that her foray onto ice isn’t going to be any more elegant than June’s, but she takes a step towards the edge anyway, and almost straight away, there’s a waiting hand reaching out to steady her. June is so solid, so assured as she carries part of Serena’s huge weight onto the ice. Serena manages two bumbling steps before her feet slip out from under her and she ends up smack on her ass, on the hard ice.

Of course June is laughing. Serena pauses, winces as she takes in the sharp spikes of pain up her back, and stares at the skates on her feet with annoyance, as if they are to blame for her fall and not her own complete ineptitude. Maybe figure skates would have been a better choice, but ever since she broke free of her mother’s insistence on girl skates and could fit into her brother’s hand-me-down hockey skates, it’s all she wanted. Everyone else makes them look so easy.

Stifling her laughter, June bends over, reaching her hands out again. This time she doesn’t let go as soon as Serena is standing. They begin their slow hobbling around the rink, arm in arm… and that’s the best part, she supposes. Perhaps that was the entire point. It’s a perfectly enjoyable way to spend the time, after all.

..

Serena almost manages to forget that the world is an unwelcoming place and that this is not where she wanted to spend her Saturday. Until she doesn’t. 

A girl, not more than twenty years old, comes hurdling up beside them, just as Serena has relaxed into the flow of circular motion. Maybe it’s by accident, but she suspects it’s on purpose. A hand reaching out and pushing would have been clearer, but this way, it could easily just be a slide of a foot. Because as Serena begins to round the bend, there’s a knock on her foot. A toe of a skate hitting against her own. Maybe if she had been more secure on her skates, it wouldn’t have mattered so much, but the fact remains she’s still coltish and without June’s physical support, the kick is enough to send her sliding out in a heavy heap towards the center of the rink. More than the pain, it's just humiliating. To be taken down by a young girl like this, in public no less.

She wonders if June even saw the whole thing because she’s laughing, briefly anyway until she notices the furious scowl across Serena’s face. This isn’t some mere fumble. It was intentional. Her smile falls right away, but instead of offering Serena a hand again, she falls to her knees, then sprawls out on the frigid ice next to Serena who still hasn’t found the strength to rise again. She doesn’t fucking care who’s looking now; her disgrace is already complete. At least her skull didn’t crack open. Small miracles, she supposes.

She rests the back of her head against the ice, staring up at the grey sky and menacing clouds above, the flickering red and green Christmas lights on the arches above the rink, the blurs of people in the periphery, some of whom she knows are staring now. Without warning, June’s face blocks out the light and she’s smirking again, her blonde hair falling out from her woollen hat and framing her face. Again, for the umpteenth time today, Serena finds herself breathless. Mostly this time with equal amounts captivation and disbelief at June's sheer audacity.

“Get up,” is all she says, still peering down and blocking out the sky but the darkness is nice; it’s better in the dark. 

Serena shakes her head, just a little as she fights the urge to rollover and give up.

“Coward,” June whispers in a deep rumble, lowering her face within millimetres of Serena’s lips.

Instead of having to respond, they’re interrupted by the voice of a young man, the rink guard. “Ma’am, are you okay?” Now they’ve definitely drawn attention to themselves. 

_No_ , Serena wants to say, _but not for the reasons you think_. 

There’s nothing an 18-year-old rink boy can do for her at this point. She nods weakly in response, and June assures him everything is fine, almost physically shooing him away and grunting to herself as she stands as well. From this angle, darkened against the dreary sky, she appears as an avenging angel, not the soft woman who kisses her under mistletoe and shares her bed at night. It’s a little bit terrifying, and as a result, Serena finds her muscles turning to lead. Or perhaps that’s merely the frostbite kicking in finally. Maybe June says it again, or maybe it’s just her imagination, but “Get up,” echoes through her ears, over eardrums that feel as if they’re timpani, banging out the dramatic finale of a classical piece. It’s too loud here, all the screams of joy, the crunch of metal blades on ice right near her ear, the groan of traffic on Queen Street, the horrible sounds of Christmas songs on repeat. Overwhelmed; she’s officially fucking overwhelmed and the spectre of June looming over her like a succubus is certainly not helping. Her heart races again and she gulps for air, a dying fish on a frozen pond.

Finally, she feels strong hands on her wrists, yanking and wrenching until she finds herself sitting instead of sprawled out. Everything shifts once again, and June is crouched next to her, something in her ice blue eyes is concerned now. Maybe there is a brain injury after all. Maybe that fall wasn’t just a silly loss of balance.

“I’m done skating.” Serena has nothing else to say. She’s ready to be done with all of this, all the nosy people, all the staring, all the false cheer and freezing air. Turning down yet another offer from June’s outstretched hand, Serena growls and pulls herself back to her feet, smoothly gliding directly to the edge of the rink with composure she wasn’t aware she still possessed. She carelessly pushes a stranger’s belongings off the bench onto the wet ground and plops herself down on the seat, immediately working to unlace her skates.

This is exactly what she had feared; it’s exactly what even June can’t prevent no matter how many good intentions she maintains. There is no innately kind world outside of their bubble, outside the one they’ve created only for themselves. The rest of the world doesn’t care about Serena’s change of heart, about her remorse or her guilt, about her attempts to rectify what she’s done wrong. There is only one person that does and they don’t need a public skating rink to share that together.

In all her fury and embarrassment, Serena recognises that she has no boots. They’re on the opposite side of the rink but June is already on it, as always, and hands them to her within minutes. She however, is not making any effort to take off her skates.

“So, you’re just going to watch me skate?” she asks, finally when Serena huffs out an accomplished sigh, feeling much more relaxed with solid ground under her feet.

“No,” she starts. “You’re going to change too and we’re going home.”

Now, Serena’s seen that disbelieving arch of an eyebrow before. Many times, in fact. Each time she’s reminded that despite everything that has happened, June actually is under no obligation to obey anything she says any longer. With a second glance, she corrects herself. “Well, I am going home. You can do whatever you want.”

June slides closer, still making no move to take off her skates. “How about this: you stay here with me and you don’t get to run home because some clumsy idiot bruised your fragile pride?”

The silence stretches out, and with each passing second, Serena feels the uncomfortable wrinkle of her disparate paranoia seeping away. She looks a fool for such an overreaction. She hates June at times like this, but also, she feels a slight weight lift from her shoulders, a kink working itself free. “What do I get if I do?”

Not everything has to be a deal, but it certainly helps. June quirks her lips and rolls her eyes, reaching out to place her gloved hands on Serena’s knees, staring hard into her face. “Me, Serena. You get me.”

With the touch, and the gaze, something catches in Serena’s throat, like a red string tied around a finger, tighter and tighter. She can’t resist the blooming heat coming to her eyes, after all of this. “I thought I already got you?” She knows there are telltale signs of building tears. Stupid, nonsensical tears. Her eyes feel hot, and her cheeks even moreso. June has the uncanny ability to both make her feel an idiot and a earthbound goddess at the same time. Her weakness leaks out through her words, how frightened she is to be alone in this world. 

June glances around, standing up straight again and seeming overwhelmed by the question which is odd enough in itself. Finally she takes a deep breath, exhales dramatically, and faces her. “There’s hot chocolate over there,” she mutters and gestures to the winter market pavilion, obviously passing over the question for something easier. “Or mulled wine.” She pauses again, seeming to search for something else. “Maybe even hot whiskey cider.”

“I don’t care,” Serena states coldly, unconcerned with what may or may not be on the bar menu and June’s expectant face falls again. Why is she trying so hard to make this whole holiday cheer thing happen? “Just take off those stupid skates and we’ll have a look, okay?”

_———_

The winter market is full of overpriced, crafty junk for a holiday that doesn’t quite exist anymore and it takes them less than an hour to wander through. There is one pair of socks with bears on them that June takes a particular shine to for Hannah, and shells out a ridiculous amount of money for them while Serena stands aside, watching with disdain. It’s just a pair of silly socks, after all. Beside her, June goes on and on about supporting local artisans as they meander back towards the cocoa shack. Serena’s not really paying attention, instead staring down at June’s hand freely hanging at her side, in a fluffy blue glove. She can’t wear gloves anymore; well, she could but with the missing fingers, it’s just too strange looking. She doesn't like the constant image of what she’s missing so mittens do better for her. There’s a moment when she gives up and slides her hand into June’s.

There’s a sharp gasp from her, as if she never expected such a move from Serena, and something lights up on her face. Briefly, she looks up and her smile is so pure, her eyes glimmering in the falling light of the afternoon, with all the white fairy lights reflecting off her face. June squeezes, and Serena is pretty certain she has a small stroke. Fingers tighten around her hand and stay that way as they walk towards the streetcar stop. A street vendor calls out, his cart full of glowsticks and blinking necklaces. 

While she doesn’t say a word this time around, June’s eyes latch onto the cheap Santa hats perched on a stick. There’s very little doubt what she’s thinking about but after the day they’ve had, she seems uninterested in pushing her luck any further. She’s done her Scrooge-wrangling for the day, and failed more than succeeded. Even June knows when to let something go and just accept what she has.

Serena stops, detaching herself from June, and wanders towards the vendor who explodes in so-called deals for her to consider. There is nothing interesting about anything else he has for sale except those dumb hats and she points, glancing back towards June who has the image of pure confusion across her face. But something else too, something akin to hope. As Serena hands the man twenty dollars for two hats she could get at the dollar store for easily half the price, she saunters back over to June whose eyes are wide as a tentative smile spreads. First she pulls off her own toque, and slips this silly thing on and then slides her hand over June’s hair, then removes her hat too. With a bubbling laugh she can’t contain she yanks the Santa hat down on June’s head, so far that it covers half her face. The resulting squeal is worth more than the twenty dollars Serena has just spent, and it’s suddenly not a useless waste of money anymore. Hearing June’s laughter is all she needed and as she pushes it up and off her face, her eyes are crinkling with delight as the smile that breaks across her face takes over. 

Matching Santa hats. It’s the stupidest they’ve ever looked together. But it’s also the happiest, Serena thinks, hearing her own tinkling laughter. At least, it’s the happiest in public, in a long time. 

And it's the youngest she’s felt in two decades, especially as June lunges at her, yanking the hat over her face and grabbing her cheeks tightly in her hands. It’s so new; June is never the one to jump her like this, not like this. She always watches and waits for the perfect time to pounce; there’s an absence of desperation in most things June does now. Before Serena can grab at her own hat, there are warm lips against hers again, and she’s blindly kissing June. She knows it’s June without sight; there’s nothing she’s more familiar with anymore than the scent, the feel, the warmth of June, whose arms are loosely slung around her neck. Finally, Serena manages to clear the faux fur hat from her eyes only to be greeted with June’s face right in hers, so she kisses her hard, again, without mistletoe, without pretence.

“You like your new hat, I guess?” Serena finally murmurs with a euphoric lilt that hasn’t been present any time before.

“I don’t give a fuck about the hat, Serena,” June groans, tightening her arms. Isn’t it obvious? With a final glance at Serena’s lips, June moves back as the chilly air sweeps in between their bodies. They regard each other quietly, trying to take in the moment, both still donning ridiculous hats.

Eventually, Serena’s shoulders sag and she sighs. The damp evening air is settling deeply into her bones without June pressed up against her. “Can we just go home now?” 

With a shallow nod, June cracks a smile again, and turns towards Queen Street. They don’t say anything more until the streetcar comes screeching up to the stop and they step into the heat. Serena feels dazed still, by how natural that one, single moment felt. And how incredibly different it felt from anything else she’s had. Careless. Casual. Childish, perhaps. They’re things she’d erased from her life long ago both out of spite and necessity, things that June has squeezed and wrestled free again, despite all her best efforts to repress them. 

Two stops pass by as they head eastbound across the city, as they sit quietly, side by side, barely touching. Then Serena speaks, just loud enough for June to hear but stares straight ahead. “Next weekend we should bring the girls.” 

June’s mouth turns up, just a little at the words. “Sounds _nice_ ,” she agrees with a nod, as her gaze darts over in Serena’s direction. She knocks at the pom pom on end of Serena’s Santa hat, like a kitten.

“I guess I got your heart to grow three sizes today, after all.” She’s so pleased with herself that Serena can’t even pretend to be irritated.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” she agrees, her words edged with teasing sarcasm. It’s hard to argue with what feels like actual fact. 

June’s face turns up to her, a genuine smile on her lips and her voice comes out as a tender murmur. “Must be.”

Nothing else needs to be said and June moves to stare out the window as the world goes whizzing by, while Serena gazes ahead. She supposes it’s good enough just like this.


End file.
